


Portrait of Flattery

by breakfastbeebo



Series: Ryden One-shots [1]
Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Artist Ryan, M/M, Model Brendon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-04
Updated: 2016-07-04
Packaged: 2018-07-21 13:34:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7389031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/breakfastbeebo/pseuds/breakfastbeebo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In Life Drawing, Ryan typically just drew what he was told and handed it in. But in the middle of the semester, his professor introduces a new model that catches Ryan's artistic eye. Portfolios were supposed to have a variety of models, but by the end, Ryan seemed to only have variations of the same boy. Who was going to notice? Definitely not Brendon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Portrait of Flattery

**Author's Note:**

> idea from ililydun on tumblr

Ryan typically liked to sit in the back of all his classes, but due to the nature of his life drawing classes, he had no choice other than to sit in the front, close to the model. Ryan was forced to socialize with the chatting students that could _only_ continue to yammer on about how today’s model was going to be naked. Ryan knew that- of course he did- he was just as curious as everyone else, but at least he could keep that stupid _grin_ off his damn face. Subtly apparently had died with the reelection of Reagan.

Their professor walked in the room, a minute late as usual, and was followed by a short boy Ryan had never seen before- probably a different major or a freshman. The girls on either side of Ryan hushed into silence with a collective gasp and hurriedly collected their pencils, trying to look busy.

“Class, this is a student from my 101 class, Brendon. Brendon, welcome to life drawing 305.” The professor waved out to the small podium the models typically posed on. “We are studying movement in static poses. Stand with full extension, please. Whenever you are ready.”

Brendon stepped up onto the small round, white podium and began to fiddle with his shirt buttons. As he looked down at his hands, his feathered bang fell down into his eyes, touching the tip of his nose. His features were prominent and strong, but delicate enough to make Brendon look _far_ too young to be in the class- let alone out of high school. His hands were quick on feeding the buttons of his shirt through the holes, revealing a flat and undefined pale chest. Every breath he took seemed to lift his entire body. As Brendon slipped his shirt off, the girls in the class began to giggle. He looked up at the sound of laughter and stared into the faces of the gawking audience. Ryan expected a blush to creep up Brendon’s neck and then second-hand embarrassment soon after infect the class as he second guessed his decision.

Ryan didn’t expect Brendon to wink at the girl beside him and slide off his shirt with a knowing smirk spread across his face. Let alone throw it on the ground in front of her.

Great. This kid was doing this just to pick up girls.

Ryan sighed loudly and picked up his pencils, ignoring the ringing silence that fell over the class when Brendon shimmied out of his jeans. Ryan was one of three guys in the class and they were the only ones sketching in the entire class for a good minute and a half.

Brendon stood with his hip popped and left leg extended and bent slightly, his right hand was tangled in his hair, and his head was ducked and he chose to stare at the floor rather than any of the students. Smart choice.

Ryan studied the odd dichotomy of his body; everything was sharp and defined, but he wasn’t muscled or impressive by any definition Ryan had ever heard. He was, at first glance, perfectly ordinary. But the more Ryan began to draw his winding torso and oddly femininely pouted lips, the more he found the boy confusingly beautiful.

Ryan finished his sketch with moments to spare before their professor told the class to save the portrait in their portfolio until the end of the semester- and told Brendon to put some clothes on.

“Oh my god, look at him.” The girl on Ryan’s right sighed, trying to hide her gaze behind her easel. “I hope he comes back next class.”

“Oh he _has_ to.” A Madonna clone on Ryan’s left countered, sounding hopeful.

The two of them pretended to be sliding their papers into their portfolio but used the action to admire Brendon as he slipped on the robe the professor gave to every model. It was red, it was shiny, and Ryan instantly felt like he was in some odd soft-porno. It was a welcome change from feeling like he was in an episode of _Valley Girl_.

Ryan packed up his portfolio and pencils as the other students in the class coyly tried to start small talk with the model. Non-Madonna was asking Brendon about his major and how _she_ remembers Dr. Hunts’ 101 class and how _fun_ it was. Ryan looked over at the sound of horribly embellished laughter to see Brendon leaning against an easel, arms crossed and head tilted back as he joined the chorus of laughter around him. They were all staring at him like he was the most stunning thing they had ever had the pleasure of drawing. And Ryan had to admit that the feeling was warranted.

The way he stood and moved and spoke and smiled caught every ounce of attention Ryan could offer. The subtle quirk of his eyebrow as one of the girls touched his arm as she spoke to him, the shameless way he kneaded his bottom lip between his teeth as that same girl refused to lift her hand once she finished speaking, the dip of his collar bone, and unconventionally beautiful dip of the tip of his nose as it hung over the cupid’s bow of his lips that somehow always looked perfectly swollen and kissable.

Ryan didn’t have another class for forty minutes and quickly sat down and pulled out another piece of paper.

By the end of the semester, most of Ryan’s portfolio was of Brendon. Sure, Dr. Hunts did let Brendon model more than once so Ryan had an excuse for some of his more in-depth work, but the close ups of the boy’s lips, arms, eyes, and chest? Ryan was just hoping that he could hand it in to the professor without any questions. He was embarrassingly amazed by the boy and made sure he always had a piece of paper ready in his bag and a pencil tucked behind his ear in case he ever saw Brendon out in the courtyard or in the dining hall. He could go home for the semester by the end of the week and could scold himself _after_ he left the presence of the model.

Dr. Hunts told Ryan to drop off his portfolio between his two life drawing classes; he wanted to be able to give him criticism before all students needed to go home but _before_ Ryan’s last class with him; perks of being a favorite student. Ryan had just finished his writing class on the other side of campus and was _furious_ about his half-drunk professor giving him a B on his final paper. Ryan had worked tirelessly on that paper, sitting in the library every night for the past two weeks.

Then again, Brendon had also been in the library for the past two weeks. It accounted for sketches #10 and #12 in his portfolio.

“Fucking lush. Can’t fucking read if she was sober. I can’t fucking _believe-_ ” Ryan rushed down the narrow hallway that lead to the art classrooms. It was lined with windows and the early morning sun was illuminating the stones with golden warmth. But it didn’t help in calming the fire inside Ryan. “I ‘ _lacked focu_ s’ what the hell does that mean? I didn’t just state the entire paper in one sentence? Well, that would make grading a lot easier wouldn’t it-” Ryan rounded the corner that led to Dr. Hunts’ room and was sent stumbling backwards onto the floor. His portfolio slid from his hand as he fell, having apparently having run into the wall in his moment of rage.

“Oh my god! Are you okay?” The wall was talking.

“Yeah.” Ryan blinked to try and come back to the situation, the room still on a tilt. “Fine.”

“I didn’t even see you! You were just suddenly right there.” Ryan finally was able to see the object that blocked his passing through the hallway and saw those _eyes_ staring down at him and those _lips_ pursed with worried and those _eyebrows_ knitted together and those _hands_ reaching out to try and help him up.

“I’m okay.” Ryan waved his hands away and pushed himself up. “Just, on my way somewhere.” He brushed his shirt off and ran his fingers through his hair. It was the first time they had ever spoken. And it was somehow harder now that Brendon had all his clothes on.

“Are you sure?” He asked, looking at Ryan’s nervous hands and fidgeting feet. “Here, let me help you.” Brendon leaned down and reached a hand out to grab the scattered sketches.

“Thanks, but I can do-” Ryan let a hand run down his face as he watched Brendon pick up a sketch and study it. His eyes raked over it and sparkled in the light that leaked in the hallway.

“This is really beautiful.” He sounded breathless but really it was Ryan who was holding his breath, waiting for Brendon to notice the mirror qualities of his sketches. “The shading is… _wow_.” It was a close-up of his hands. Who knows their hands when they aren’t attached to their body? No one. He probably didn’t even noticed. “And this eye? That is-” Fuck. “Me.”

“You are the class model. Of _course_ there is a picture of you.” Ryan tried to sound nonchalant, but ruined it the minute his grip on the pictures gained desperation.

“But that’s my eye- and the scar on my eyebrow. You never just drew my eye in class.” He countered, tugging the picture away from Ryan. “I didn’t get naked two times a week for your class to draw my _eye_.”

“So, I did a focus a few times.” _There_. There was his focus. Loud and clear and awkwardly standing in front of him. “I needed to practice eyes.”

“These aren’t eyes.” Brendon had picked up the other sketches on the floor and found the entire stack of pictures depicting him almost every day since they met in class. His eyes crinkled in the middle of a laugh over his friend getting a hacky-sack to the face, his hands when he was holding his temple while nose deep in a Sylvia Plath book in the library, and his lips when he was being approached in the courtyard by a young man about a foot taller than him. “Have you been _following_ me?”

“No! _God no_. The campus is just small.”

“You’ve just been drawing me?”

“Yes.”

“ _Not_ stalking.”

“No. Just drawing.” Ryan promised. Brendon narrowed his eyes as he gave the papers back to Ryan. He stuffed them back into his portfolio and tried not to catch Brendon’s gaze.

“Am I that much fun to draw?” He was preening in the sudden attention. The same shirtless smirk reappeared on his face as Ryan finally looked up at him. “Should probably quit art school to just become a model.”

“Don’t flatter yourself.” Ryan scoffed, rolling his eyes at the confidence oozing from his voice.

“You’re right.” Brendon replied, nodded. “You already do that for me.”

“I am an artist. I am allowed to draw what I deem fit.” Ryan countered, feeling his face flush crimson.

“You are also very cute. So that complicates things.” Brendon added, scrunching his nose up as he stepped closer to Ryan. “Cute guys don’t get to just draw me without at least telling me their names…” He looked down at the name scribed at the top of Ryan's portfolio. “George.”

“It’s Ryan.” He had pointed to the middle initial between the two names. “I go by Ryan."

“Ryan.” Brendon repeated, letting the name settle between his lips. “Wonderful to meet you, Ryan.”

“Likewise.” Ryan muttered, tugging on his bag strap. “Glad you have pants on for this.”

Brendon laughed and Ryan stared at the way his eyes crinkled and head titled forward. Ryan fiddled with the pencil in his back pocket. “I also have to say it’s nice to have a conversation with someone when I am in the clothes I picked out that morning.” They both smiled as Ryan shuffled his feet and hitched his bag higher on his shoulder. “It’s really nice.”

Brendon’s voice was quiet as he muttered his last comment, looking down at his shoes and mirroring Ryan’s body language. Outside, the large clock tower chimed the half hour and Ryan knew he only had fifteen more minutes before Dr. Hunts would have another class.

“I- I have to-”

“Yeah, yeah.” Brendon nodded, looking around and making sure every paper was picked up. “That’s fine.”

 “It was nice to meet you.” Ryan hugged his portfolio to his chest and tried to hide his nervous, shaking breaths.

“It was a pleasure to meet you too, Ryan.” His name came out like a compliment to the sentence, Brendon’s face breaking into a grin. Ryan grinned back meekly before turning to continue down the hallway. “Wait!”

“Yeah?” Ryan rushed and peeked around the corner again.

“Tell me what you get for that portfolio.” He said, walking backwards slowly, a wolfish grin replacing the cheerful one he had. “I’m free at one today. I typically eat lunch in the West courtyard… My friends are going to be absent today I think.”

“Okay.” Ryan replied, nodding. “I’ll see you then.”

Brendon winked before turning around and walking down the hallway. His shoulders kept the fabric stretching across them taunt, and Ryan could see the curve of his shoulder blades through the shear fabric. He hadn’t drawn that yet. But he had all afternoon to try.


End file.
